...Set It Free

"The Salvation of the Free"

On one of my many tangents that my mind wanders I was thinking about Buddhism (I believe my thoughts were initially on the song Heart-Shaped Box) and I realised that I had no idea what the difference between enlightenment and nirvana was. I thought enlightenment was the journey to the eternal peace that is nirvana. I found a website that explained the meanings of the terms, and I couldn't express it more beautifully than Kusala Bhikshu did;

Nirvana - The End of Suffering, in this life and all future lives.

Enlightenment - The Wisdom of Emptiness.

Buddhists believe that everything is interconnected, and no one thing can exist independently. I have no idea why I find this so beautiful; I just do.

Enlightened Ethan..

Knowledge is a Powerful Thing

My Unicorn

I saw my unicorn today. Well, when I say that, I mean I saw a unicorn. By definition a unicorn can never be someone’s.

She was quiet, still. Beautiful. It seemed like there was nothing around her; she was everything.

I went and sat nearby – close enough to feel I was with her, far enough so I wouldn’t scare her.

A unicorn has this mysterious ability to take all of your confidence, leaving you standing in a suit of jagged insecurities.

You want to stride up and hug a unicorn, hold her close and never let go. But you might scare her away.

I don’t think she noticed me.

She remained, content in what she was doing, content without me.

Unicorns are the most beautiful, purest creatures in the world – I could feel it, despite the distance between us. You’ll discover this, when you find your unicorn.

She came close to me, nudged me;

That explosion of colour and light inside my skin told me what I thought all along.

I froze.

I’d wrestled bears, fought witches, dived head-first into black pits of oblivion – but it was safe to say, now is the most scared I’ve been in my life.

For you see, unicorns are solitary creatures. They gallop around the meadows of faraway unnamed; they quietly ponder life and love, without an expression to hold on to.

Like all fools taken by the magic of a unicorn, I want to be with her forever. But maybe she is a true unicorn. Maybe I can only ride with her for so long, before she goes somewhere I can’t, or worse, decides she doesn’t want a travel companion – then I’ll have to go back to traipsing through caverns and valleys, striving to find the beauty in everything again.

But how can I, when the beauty of my unicorn overshadows all.

If our travels should end, and I must walk that path again, while she is off in the meadows of faraway unnamed, I can find some consolation;

She was my unicorn once.

Love Ethan..

My Forlorn Hope

In medieval times, during the siege of a castle, when the catapult or trebuchet or cannon or mining or stealth or subterfuge and treachery would weaken or crumble the enemy's defences, a small force of volunteers would attack the opening, with the knowledge that most would die, a lucky few wounded.

These men were called the 'Forlorn Hope'.

Most volunteered for self-promotion, for if they survived, they'd get a large amount of the captured booty, and the prestige of being the lucky few living Forlorn Hope.

I can't decide whether this is a sad example of society's reliance and yearning for money and power, or simply a brave act by selfless men who probably didn't have much going for them at the time.

To be honest if I was somehow in that situation I would feel like I would be encouraged to be a Forlorn Hope. I don't think I'm brave, but I don't think I'd have as much to lose as the other people around me. Most would have families and wives and pets and promises waiting for them at home. I'm not really sad about that though it's just where I am right now. My Forlorn Hope is to have a family and a wife who loves me one day. There's not much left to do but put my head down and run towards the light. If I make it, I'll have more riches than any Forlorn Hope before me.

Wishful Ethan..

"Ozymandias"

This world is full of beauty,

Even on a bus devoid of colour,

Driving on an ashen motorway.

The neon skyline is beautiful.

Twinkle and fall but burn bright,

The majesty, the full moon,

Smiles unblinking, down on ours;

The monument to technology.

I pity those who can't see it,

More those who won't;

Flowers of light and dark,

Criss-crossing the night sky.

We have day and late evening.

Night is for hunting,

but there is no night.

We have only day and late evening.

And our monuments to technology,

Until the sand and earth reclaim

What was theirs all along.

Attempting-to-be-Poetic Ethan..

Hakuna Mutata

I can't think of a meaning for life, for all that is around me. I once thought about the theory of Solipsism, which (I believe) says that I am the only thing known to exist - all others and everything around me could simply be a construction that I have created. I like thinking that. It means all the crap people around the place are just there to make my life interesting. And it makes me appreciate the important people in my universe. But did I create both? So really I'm just appreciating myself, and disliking myself? But I digress.

I can't think of a meaning for life. But there are so many things and people around me that make me so happy. I guess I don't need a meaning for life. What's wrong with just enjoying being in the world?

In the same way, I'm not afraid of death. But maybe I am. I guess I've never been in a situation where I thought I could die. Well, a couple. But selfishly I think that I've lived my life exactly how I wanted to - I've done my best to just be a good person - I'm nowhere near perfect and am happy that way - and selfishly I (would like to) think that people would be sad that I had died, but I might see them again, and the time I spent with them was so awesome that I know no one is as lucky as I.

I like telling the people I love that I love them. I want the important people (even if I have created them) to know that they are important. I hope they all know that.

If I should die tomorrow (which is highly unlikely as I don't think I'll be leaving the house with all my study) I hope someone finds this blog, and knows that I was happy. In every way. Thank you everyone in the world. (Even if I created you :-))

Content Ethan..

Are We There Yet?

The universe is just a ridiculous place. It's amazing how we've thought about, figured out, but still have no idea about so many things. Tribes thought there was nothing outside their forest; townsfolk thought there was nothing outside their country; explorers thought there was nothing beyond the ocean; and now we have no idea about the universe around us. How does it stay together? Is it a giant sphere like a planet, holding us all in place? Then what is outside of that? These are the questions that I think about when I should be thinking about more pressing matters at hand, but like the Dragons, I just can't stop thinking about it.

Musing Ethan..

Trash McSweeney

Vocalist/guitar for Brisbane band (now in America somewhere, I believe) The Red Paintings - Trash McSweeney had a violent seizure in 1999 and as a result developed synaesthesia.

Couldn't find synaesthesia (or synesthesia) in any of my dictionaries but the Free Online Dictionary by Farlex defines Synaesthesia as -

the subjective sensation of a sense other than the one being stimulated. For example, a sound may evoke sensations of colour.

This means that when Trash writes music he's really seeing colour and can almost paint a picture in his mind. Although the seizure nearly killed him, it did give him the amazing ability to create beautiful music. Our world is a funny old place ay?

And whether this is in fact true or just a committed fabrication, the band really do make great music.

Check 'em out.

Quiet Ethan..

Life Is Awesome

I have seen a lot of people sporting slogans along the lines of "Death is peaceful, easy. Life is harder."

No.

You are surely a fool if you think that. Life is awesome. It makes me angry when people I love die or go through truly terrible times and remain happy, and stupid people do nothing but complain about their lives.

I feel better now. Thank you blog.

Angry Ethan..

Ed Hardy

http://thingsboganslike.wordpress.com/

Had to share. Especially because of the picture of Ed Hardy shirts at the top. Actually, hoping that wasn't just some advertisement. Well Ed Hardy shirts should be on the list. I don't understand how something that would have been tacky and publicly-ridiculed two years ago, all of a sudden has seven letters on it and costs a tidy sum.

Anyways - worth a read.

Laughing Ethan..

"The Surest Poison In Time"

I have noticed that I notice more things when I'm hungover. Through the fogginess of post-boozehounding I've found clarity in the world. I'll be on the bus and notice shops I've never seen before; I'll actually pay attention to people in the street and see nice people, families and such; I'll spend an hour thinking surprisingly clearly about some flaw in the universe (usually to no avail but I'm getting closer); and also take time to stare at a leaf that has fallen onto my window ledge.

In this state I usually find the beauty in life and, it's weird, but I usually sort out all of my life's problems on days like this. Just wish it wasn't worth rubbing shoulders with every vapid creature in Brisbane. Maybe it's one of those 'the world evens out', 'I'm getting a lot of negative energy at night and a lot of positive in the morning' sort of things. Oh, and I was wearing a suit - which is always a good thing.

"Everything has it's beauty, but not everyone sees it." - Confucius say.

Enlightened Ethan..

The Greenland Shark

Ok, just one more for today. I want to save some things to write about every now and then so that when nothing's new I won't be a person writing about what they ate. I already know what I ate. I don't need to read it.

The Greenland shark is possibly one of the most awesome things possible. Firstly, it's really the only shark that can live in the cold waters of the arctic circle. It's massive - usually about 8m I believe (24ft to our imperialist friends). It is born with good vision, but after some time a parasite latches onto its eye and begins eating its cornea - leaving it mostly blind. It's skin is toxic, so anything that eats it dies. Except for other Greenland sharks, which can be cannibalistic, and have an immunity to the toxins in the skin. Hmmm, actually apparently it can be eaten if boiled correctly and is a delicacy in Iceland. Sad. Why not just eat Gawd?

Inuits have two legends as to the origin of the Greenland shark;

1 - It's high urea content in the skin (making it poisonous) created the legend that a woman soaked her clothes in urine and went down to the seaside to wash them, she lost the clothes and they formed the shark. (Or the pee-soaked clothes did create the shark and therefore the legend created the high urea content in the skin?)

2 - A young girl was being drowned by her father and he cut off her fingers which became the salmon, walrus, seal, whale and greenland shark.

Either way this truly awesome creature has the legendary origin of piss-stained clothes or child-slaughter. Sorry Greenland sharks.

Truly Fascinated Ethan..

Dragons

I can't get the idea of Dragons out of my head. Ever since I was little. Where the hell did they come from? Every other mythic creature is just a simple transference from another known creature;

The Giant - a large man?

The Cyclops - a one-eyed large man?

Pheonix - Bird on fire?

Goblin - well goblins and orcs are pretty awesome but they really are just dirty, evil things.

Fairy - small person with wings?

Centaur - half man, half horse?

Minotaur - half man, half bull?

Griffin - half eagle, half lion?

Ok I think you get my meaning. My point is, where the hell did Dragons come from? Are they just a massive lizard with the wings of a bat? Oh and they have horns. Oh and massive teeth. Oh and steel-like scales. Oh and they breathe fire. Oh and they are magic. Oh and they protect castles. And I honestly don't have much backing in this statement, but, haven't they been prevalent in many ancient cultures' art?

I come to the conclusion that Dragons exist/existed. And the Loch Ness Creature. She exists too.

Legendary Ethan..

Charlie Chaplin "Everything A Contradiction"

Frederick Tampland wove the lace into the final eyelet, tying the two threads together to tighten his navy blue vest. He cradled his cane under his arm and slid his gleaming black top hot onto his head, smoothing back his sleek blonde hair. After looking at the handsome gentleman in the mirror from a number of different angles he let his cane slip down to his fingers, and used his other hand to grasp the edge of his shiny black top hat and slide his finger across the brim.

"Successful. Handsome. Confident. Respectable."

With his usual morning pep talk complete, Frederick strode from his bedroom, down the single flight of stairs, taking special care to skip the broken step, through the front door and out into the world.

***

Being the first Monday of the month, Frederick knew Mr Summers from upstairs will be coming down to have his scheduled check-up of Frederick's performance. He heard the offices outside become silent - one by one - as if a blanket was being drawn across the building, muffling every sound, getting closer.

"Frederick."

"Mr. Summers." Frederick rose from behind his desk, bumping his knee into the side of desk. This caused both pain and Frederick's stationery to roll off the edge to land at Mr. Summers' feet.

Both men looked down at the pencils for a moment, before looking at each other, sharing an awkward silence. Mr. Summers glanced at Frederick's gleaming top hat resting on the designated pole placed directly to the right of his desk.

"Hmmm...."

"Yes, Mr. Summers sir?"

Mr. Summers placed his dark grey top hat on Frederick's desk, then leaned forward and rested his hands next to it.

"Bad news, I'm afraid Frederick."

***

The job-hunt had not been kind to Frederick. For months he had scoured countless corporations promoting his talents. When that failed he sought out labour employment and even begged for the less-than-prestigious position of waste-collector. Unfortunately he was deemed to be "over-qualified".

Frederick sold his house to pay off the debts he had accumulated from his short time in the upper-middle class. He slept in the dark alleys of the city he once held acclaim. One day Lord Summers passed by and stopped when he recognised the fallen body of his colleague. The Lord tipped his shiny black top hat, the very top hat that Frederick was forced to leave behind, and walked out from the alley, out into the main street. Out into the world. Spinning his silver cane as he went.

"This Delusion Is A Kind of Prison For Us"

I can't remember what he looked like. Looks like. I know that he'd have my thick, black hair. I have to get it from somewhere, because everyone else is in my family is blonde. When I look in the mirror I see my mother's features. Well, normally I would. Today I have haunting, sunken eyes and stubble you could polish a shoe with. Thankfully Mum doesn't share those features. I would've usually laughed at that mental image.

"This way." The guard leads me through yet another long hallway with more doors, locked on both sides. It's dank and stale, even in the hallways. I imagine this is the smell of regret. We reach a large metal door with a thick glass window, just large enough to see the face of a guard peering back at us. The guard leading me unlocks his side and nods through the small window. The door opens and we pass the other guard, who simply nods back. I wonder if they would act differently if I weren't here.

Walking the long corridors gives me time to think once more. But it's no use. My sleepless night was fruitless. I still have no idea what to do with him.

The guard opens what appears to be the last door and points down the hall.

"Final cell."

"Thank you."

***

The drive home is surprisingly painless. The chatter of the radio fills the car and makes me feel alone. It's almost like he wasn't even sitting in the back. I could've just been driving home from work, like always...

"This is a really nice area."

...and I'm dragged kicking and screaming back to reality.

"Yeah, it's where I live."

"This is a really nice area, Kid."

Kid.

***

The bags are surprisingly light to carry up to the guest bedroom. I guess twelve years leaves you with only the necessities. I put the suitcase on the bed next to the towel I bought for him. For a moment we just stand and stare at the old suitcase, its corners tattered and discoloured.

"Well I'll leave you to it then. If you need anything, just yell out."

He nods in my direction without looking up and begins to unzip his suitcase. He must have caught some of the air in his cell when he zipped it up. I inhale deeply and once again smell the coarse redolence of regret. Not the ideal lung-full of air for what I was about to say.

"Umm..."

"Yeah, Kid?"

I falter and begin to look around the room, "I'll start getting dinner ready."

I walk slowly down the stairs into the kitchen and start pulling pans from the draws under the stove. I stop for a moment and glance up the stairs to his room.

Nothing.

***

I start setting the table, placing the knives and forks beside the plates and putting coasters down for the glasses. I can hear him open his door and stride slowly down the stairs, missing every second one with his giant steps. I look up when he reaches the bottom. He's wearing a new shirt and neatly pressed pants.

"You're going a bit formal?"

His cheeks glow pink and his hands search his body and run through his thick black hair before finally scratching his stubbly beard.

"'Good Luck' gifts from the guards. Wanted to look my best for Becky." He starts fussing over his worn belt. Obviously it wasn't one of the presents from the guards.

I step forward so he can't see the set table.

He looks up.

"Hey Kid, do you mind if I borrow a razor? They didn't let me get a new one and mine's like shaving with broken glass." He looks in my direction, expecting laugh, a smile, some form of recognition. I could only stare at his shoes.

The insects in my garden are chorusing the evening.

"Look. I should have told you in the car." I stare into his pale blue eyes for the first time in twelve years.

His face turns downwards and the chirping of the insects in my garden grows louder.

"Becky's not coming to see me, is she?"

"She doesn't like being called Becky anymore."

Wow, I didn't think blogging would be so ominous

Well, here I am. Never thought I'd blog, but I need a hobby - I write - therefore writing should be my hobby. I apologise in advance for my shonky punctuation (and possible spelling of shonky) to my >awesome Corporate Writing and Editing tutor and lecturer, Mr Glen Thomas. This is much like a stream of consciousness so punctuation falls to the wayside.

I don't really know what to start off with, so I think I'll put up a couple of stories that I haven't really put too much thought into. To be honest I started and finished them not long before they were due - just a couple of short ditties.

Ethan..